The Power of Words
by Snafu1000
Summary: A qunari mercenary survived the explosion at the Conclave to become the Herald of Andraste. It falls to Josephine to help her understand that not all wars can be won with swords. F!Adaar/Josephine
_Author's Notes: This is me scratching the Inquisition itch. F!Adaar/Josephine is one of my favorite pairings, and this one has been nudging at me for a while. This story is not a part of the 'Moments In Time' universe; that particular tale will have to wait until I finish MIT (Close …_ _ **so**_ _close)._

 _Not sure on update regularity for this. One of my tricks for dealing with writer's block is to have 3-4 stories queued up at any point in time, so I can switch from one to the other as the muses dictate, but my primary focus is still finishing MIT, and then on the other stories in that 'verse._

 _Usual disclaimers apply: Adaar, Josephine & everything else in the DA universe belongs to EA/BioWare/Whoeverthehell owns it this week. If you don't recognize it, it's mine, but I still make no money from it._

* * *

It was the Herald's eyes that captured Josephine's attention first: a light shade of lavender, almost amethyst, and framed by thick lashes, they were oddly feminine. Granted, Ketarah Adaar _was_ female, but she was also a qunari, and while not so burly as the males of the race, she was nonetheless formidable in her armor, her shield secured across her back, sword at her hip. Horns, glossy and black, swept back from her temples in curving arcs, russet hair pleated in tight braids between them. Nothing about her looked the least bit delicate, but her eyes … her eyes were wary, confused, almost fearful as they glanced around the war room, coming to rest upon Josephine as Cassandra made introductions.

"Pleased to meet you, Lady Montilyet." Her voice was a husky contralto, the Trade tongue accented but clear. She had been a mercenary with the Valo-Kas: a company of qunari mercenaries hired to help keep the peace at the Chantry conclave. Then, she had been the only survivor of the explosion that had killed Divine Justinia and hundreds of others, and thereby the chief suspect of the crime. And now, she was their last hope.

"The pleasure is mine, Your Worship," Josephine replied with instinctive courtesy, her mind still turning over ways to frame this to the advantage of the Inquisition. It was a short list. "You're even … taller than I'd heard."

Her lips quirked slightly; plainly, it was not the first time she had been told that, or something like it. Then she shook her head. "I'm no one's Worship," she said firmly.

"Do you even believe in the Maker?" Cullen asked, his worried look indicating that his thoughts were mirroring Josephine's: could a heathen truly be Andraste's Herald?

The broad shoulders shrugged. "Never gave it much thought before," Ketarah admitted. "Not until this." She turned her left hand over, uncurling her fingers; the mark across her palm burst into coruscating light, its eldritch glow flickering over the stone walls, and she curled her hand into a fist again, grimacing.

"Does it hurt?" Josephine asked her, caught between curiosity and concern.

Another shrug. "Some. Not like it did. I just ..." Her lips thinned, and she shook her head, looking troubled. "I don't understand. If there is a Maker … why me?"

"Perhaps to make the point that we are all His children." Leliana's features were still drawn with grief. She'd wanted badly to blame the lone survivor of the explosion for the death of Divine Justinia and the rest, but more than that now, she wanted – _needed_ – to find some meaning in the tragedy.

Ketarah considered this, nodded, though her expression looked no less dubious. "It can close the rifts," she murmured. "I guess that's all that matters."

* * *

The Herald stood silently in the doorway, watching as Josephine negotiated with Marquise DuRellion over his claim to 'ownership' of Haven. It was ludicrous, of course; even if his mildewed title stood up to scrutiny, it dated to the time of the Orlesian occupation of Ferelden. King Alistair would never agree to cede possession to his kingdom's erstwhile conquerors, and Empress Celene had far more pressing issues to attend to. But pointing this out would only antagonize him further, requiring her to devote still more time to quieting his complaints.

"My wife and I gifted Divine Justinia access to this most holy site for the purpose of a pilgrimage," the Marquise declared, his mustache twitching beneath his mask. "The Inquisition was not a party in that agreement!"

"The Inquisition was started by the Right and Left Hands of the Divine, was it not?" Ketarah spoke up suddenly.

"With nothing in the way of proof, apart from their say-so, that this was Divine Justinia's will!" DuRellion countered haughtily. He'd barely acknowledged the Herald upon their introduction, plainly dismissing the 'she-bull' as the aberration that most considered her to be.

Given an opening, Josephine went for the throat – figuratively speaking, of course. "If you do not accept Seeker Pentaghast's word on the matter, then by Nevarran custom, she is bound by honor to challenge you," she said in a matter of fact manner, leafing through her papers until she came to her calendar. "Shall I schedule the duel for this evening?" Her quill hovered over the paper as she held her breath.

The Marquise's mouth gaped for a moment before he found his voice. "No! No, perhaps my reaction has been … somewhat hasty."

He was backing down; now was the time to let him pretend that something besides cowardice moved him. "We face a dark time, Your Grace," Josephine told him gently. "Divine Justinia would not want her passing to divide us." They were more than words. She believed with all her heart that they were true. "She would, in fact, trust us to forge new alliances to the benefit of all, no matter how strange they may seem."

The Marquise turned away, his head down as if in thought. "I shall think on it, Lady Montilyet," he said slowly, turning back to her. "The Inquisition … might stay in the meantime." He left, and Josephine knew that no more would be said on the matter.

"You let him save face." Ketarah was watching her, amethyst eyes curious.

"I did," Josephine confirmed. "Humiliating him might have gained his cooperation, but lost us his support. His status is now tied to that of the Inquisition, and he will support us because of that … so long as we appear to be succeeding."

The Herald nodded, regarding her thoughtfully. "Clever," she remarked. "Never had much use for diplomats and fancy words before. Generally, once they get involved, we stop drawing pay."

"I ... can see where that would be a concern in your line of work," Josephine conceded, trying to frame her words carefully, "but not all of the challenges that the Inquisition will face can be handled by -"

"A brute with a sword?" the Herald finished for her, expression hardening into something caught between irritation and resignation. "I know my place, Lady Montilyet. I go where I'm told, close the rifts and only kill who you tell me to. I'll try not to piss on the rug in the meantime."

She turned and strode off before Josephine could reply.

* * *

She did not see the Herald again until better than a week had passed, when the group returned from their first excursion into the Hinterlands, escorting Revered Mother Giselle. It was admittedly an odd sight: the qunari towering over the cleric, but the intent expressions on their faces indicated that whatever conversation passed between them was of interest to both women.

"She did it," Leliana spoke up beside Josephine. The spymaster's arms were crossed over her chest, her expression was impassive. So very different from the mischievous woman that Josephine had known in Val Royeaux; she hadn't caught even a glimpse of that woman since the explosion at the conclave.

"She did," Josephine confirmed, adding, "and more," as her eyes fell on the ragtag bunch who followed the Herald, Cassandra, Varric and Solas into Haven. Templar armor, mage robes, tunics and trews; elves, humans … all of them looking about with the same wary, weary eyes that had seen too much.

"Revered Mother." Leliana stepped forward, her expression flowing easily into a warm smile as she bowed. Another mask, though a pleasing one. "Welcome to Haven. I will show you to your quarters."

"Thank you." The older woman inclined her head graciously, then glanced up at the Herald. "We will continue our chat later, yes?" she asked, the lilting Orlesian accent touching her words lightly.

"I'd like that," Adaar replied with a nod, watching briefly as Giselle walked away with Leliana, then turning questioning eyes to Cassandra. "What do we do with -" she trailed off, nodding to those who had accompanied them.

"We will find accommodations for them," the Seeker assured her, reaching up to clasp her shoulder in a comradely gesture that spoke volumes about the impression that the Herald of Andraste had made upon the Right Hand of the Divine during the brief excursion. "Get some rest; you've earned it. Solas, with me; Varric, find Cullen."

"Well, since you said 'please' and all," the dwarf muttered as he headed in the direction of the training grounds.

Cassandra ignored him, raising her voice slightly as she turned to address the dozen or so recruits. "If you will come with me, we will find you places to sleep and see to your needs." The group stirred, but it was not until several eyes turned to the Herald and she nodded that they moved to follow Cassandra and Solas, leaving Josephine alone with the Herald.

She cast about for something to say, finally settling on, "You seemed to be having a good conversation with the Revered Mother."

"Just trying to figure out where a she-bull fits into the Maker's plan," she replied with a shrug, then shifted uncomfortably. "The others … I didn't mean to bring in more mouths to feed, but I didn't know what else to do with them, and Cassandra said that it was all right."

"She was right," Josephine said firmly, "and so were you. If we are to restore peace to Thedas, we must gain allies, followers. We will find a way to provide for them. That you are already beginning to inspire others to follow you is admirable."

"Wasn't hard," the Herald disagreed. "It's … bad in the Hinterlands. Rifts, demons, mages, templars, bandits. Felt like we were fighting for every foot of ground, and some of the poor sods had no idea what they're even fighting for. Spare their lives, seal up a rift or two in front of them, and they're ready to at least think about fighting for us. I think we've got a lead on where the templars in the area are holed up, but I wanted to get Mother Giselle out of there before one side or the other killed her. The damn templars can't tell the difference between a farmer with a hoe and a mage with a staff, and the rebel mages hate the Chantry with a vengeance."

"A wise decision, then," Josephine concurred. "We need her voice to smooth the way to an audience with the clerics in Val Royeaux." They could not long fight the Chantry along with the rebel mages and templars, as well as the demons that the breach was loosing upon the world.

The Herald nodded. "More people are going to die before we get back out there," she predicted grimly.

"They will," Josephine agreed, "but perhaps not so many as would have before, thanks to your efforts thus far."

She considered this, nodded. "Perhaps," she replied, turning to go.

"Your Worship?" Josephine hesitated, trying to frame the words of the apology that she owed.

"I told you, I'm no one's Worship," the other woman replied, glancing back at her with a touch of irritation.

"You are the Herald of Andraste," Josephine told her gently, "and if you are to be respected as such by those outside the Inquisition, you must be shown proper respect by those inside."

"All right," she agreed with a resigned sigh. "Just maybe not while we're alone, please?"

The plaintiveness of the request took Josephine by surprise. "All right, Your -" she caught herself, smiled awkwardly. "What would you like me to call you?"

That got her an odd look. "My name?" she suggested. "Ketarah Adaar. After twenty-five years, I've gotten pretty good at answering to it."

"Ketarah." Josephine tried the name out uncertainly. As an ambassador, first names were seldom used, but the woman was a colleague, not some foreign dignitary.

Ketarah nodded. "My … friends call me Keta," she added, a melancholy shadow falling over her face.

Friends. "I almost forgot!" Josephine exclaimed, slipping the rolled scrap of parchment from a pocket. "This came while you were gone. I believe it is from the … Valo-Kas?"

"It means 'greatsword' in Qunlat," Ketarah supplied, wrinkling her nose in a grimace. "Not sure why a bunch of Tal-Vashoth mercs chose that as the name for their company." Her expression as she reached out to accept the missive was oddly apprehensive. She broke the seal and unrolled it, scanning it quickly. Too quickly. "Thank you," she said, crumpling the note, shoving it into the leather pouch on her belt and turning to go.

"Is something wrong?" Josephine asked her worriedly.

"I -" Ketarah looked back at her, then away, broad shoulders slumping. "I don't know," she muttered, jaw set and eyes averted.

Josephine studied her face, the flush of humiliation that colored her cheeks. "You cannot read?"

"That should come as no surprise," Ketarah replied tersely, still refusing to look at her.

The ambassador reached out, placing a cautious hand on the Herald's arm. "I do not consider you a brute with a sword," she began, "and I apologize if my words or manner suggested otherwise before. I have not dealt often with mercenaries, and still less often with qunari."

"I am _not_ qunari." A razor thin edge of anger undercut the words, and Ketarah shifted away from her touch. "I do not follow the Qun."

"Then I apologize again." Josephine let her hand fall. Could she say nothing without causing offense? "There is no shame in being unable to read."

"They know I can't," Ketarah growled. "I don't know why they even sent it."

"It might be a matter of some urgency, then," Josephine suggested carefully. "If you wish, I could read it to you." She held her breath, certain that she had managed to offer another insult, but after a long moment, the amethyst eyes cut towards her, and Ketarah nodded.

"Please," she said, withdrawing the crumpled note from the pouch and holding it out. Josephine took it, smoothing the wrinkles from the parchment and peering at the uneven lettering for a moment before beginning to read aloud:

 _Keta,_

 _I heard you were dead, and then a prisoner, and then maybe you fell out of the Fade and landed on your head and forgot who you were. Seriously, stop that. We still haven't been paid._

 _Some of our kith made it out of that giant shit hole full of demons after the explosion. The rest are dead or missing. I don't know how many were rounded up by angry humans. If you're not dead and you remember who you are, help me find our brothers and sisters._

 _Shokrakar_

 _P.S. If you forgot who you are, I'll remind you: Your name is Ketarah Adaar. You're a Vashoth of the Valo-Kas Company. You didn't get paid for being blown up._

 _P.P.S. If you are dead, disregard this message._

By the time she was finished, she was struggling to keep her lips from twitching, but when a glance at Ketarah showed a wry smile quirking the taller woman's lips, she relaxed enough to chuckle.

"They have a … unique way of putting things."

"She always has," Ketarah agreed, then sobered. "The others … I haven't seen any of them, or heard. Is there any way we could find out …" She trailed off uncertainly.

"I will make inquiries at once," Josephine promised her. "The Inquisition has taken no such prisoners." She barely stopped herself from using the word 'qunari', wary of how it would be received. "But nobles in the surrounding lands may have captured them in the confusion." Maker knew, there had been confusion aplenty in those chaotic first days. Hopefully, not all of them had been killed.

"Thank you, Lady Montilyet," Ketarah said, though from her somber expression, she knew as well as Josephine that the odds were not good.

"Please, if I am to call you Ketarah, you should call me Josephine." She held out her hand, offering the letter.

Ketarah took it, studying it for a long moment before folding it neatly and returning it to her belt pouch. "All right … Josephine," she agreed solemnly. "I should go eat and rest. We need to get back out there soon."

Josephine almost called after her once more, but she held back, worried that the offer she had been about to make would again be taken the wrong way. They had parted on good terms this time; for now, that would have to be enough.


End file.
